


one new text message

by Hopie (hopiecat)



Category: Magic Kaito, 名探偵コナン | Detective Conan | Case Closed
Genre: Kaito Shipping Week, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-16 10:10:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7263751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopiecat/pseuds/Hopie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Saguru has always had an uneven relationship with intimacy. He doesn't expect nudes to change that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	one new text message

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cloudy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cloudy/gifts).



> Written for Kaito Shipping Week, and dedicated to Cloudy, who had to endure a lot of screaming and grumbling on my end about the improbabilities of sending nudes.

Complete silence but for the cars blurring past the windows and the dim violin chords from his speakers the scratching of his pen Watson playing with a stuffed and jingling mouse just behind him. His eyes gummy from lack of sleep, words dancing on the back of his eyelids veering between report ('At approximately 12:30PM, a young man was accused of shoplifting several cellphones from—') to homework ('The Tale of Genji is thought to have been written—') to letters ('Dear Jack, thank you for sending me 'Cops & Robbers XXX' and please lose my mailing address immediately. Love, Saguru'). 

Saguru yawned, cracked his neck on either side, feeling bones shift and compress, the ache of muscles long-ago forgotten in his bid to get as much done as absolutely possible. Watson's stuffed mouse landed on his desk, and he picked it up by the tail, tossing it over his shoulder without looking to see where it landed (judging from the sound of impact, it had rebounded off of the wardrobe and fallen on the---)

 _Dzzz._

Sleep rushed from him like drained water. He shoved his chair back and dove across the bed for his phone, pinwheeling through the obvious candidates – murder, KID heist, something wrong with his uncle, something wrong with Kaito, something— _What?_

Blink down at the message, pull the phone further out, and then pull it back towards his face, frown. 

_Kaito: I'm bored and alone and it's sooo hot in my room, I had to take everything off. Wanna see?_

This had to be a mistake. Some kind of prank. Maybe Akako had taken Kaito's phone, and – thought it would be funny? Kaito was certainly smarter than sending him pictures, was he, because there was an approximate two hundred ways for a private image to somehow wind up shared somewhere improper, like the internet. Kaito had to be cleverer than that. 

But—whispered a little voice in his head that, unfortunately, had a sizeable amount to do with his libido—what if it is Kaito?

_Saguru: As much as that appeals to me, maybe you could prove you're actually Kaito, first? There are several ways to mimic someone's identity over a phone, after all. Akako, if this is you, this is not funny._

_Kaito: OMG. Idiot. Here I was trying to be sexy, and you're just worried about boring crime stuff. :p_

Now that sounded a little bit more like Kaito. Saguru grinned a little, rubbed his hand over his face, and then—

Dzzz. 

_Kaito: Proof enough?_

And an attachment. 

In for a penny. Saguru tapped on the blurred image, reached for his water, and sipped, idly wondering which J-Pop rockstar Akako would google-image his way. Maybe she'd be even more—

Water going down the wrong way, his whole body starting as the picture came into view: ink-black hair and manic smile, and a lopsided bowtie, half-undone, a stretch of bare stomach with a fuzz of distractingly neat dark hair arrowing down from the naval—

And a top-hat emoji smack-dab over the interesting bit. 

Oh, Christ. 

Saguru put his phone down. His head followed shortly afterwards, pressed to the mound of notes-letters-reports spilled across his desk. He groaned. Deeply. 

But the damnable thing was – hell. There was enough of Kaito Kuroba there to look at and want. The lean, ridged stretch of his belly. The bare thighs. The black fluff hugging the spot just underneath his naval. Besides the supremely stupid decision to put a picture like that on his phone and transfer it via data, it was extremely arousing, very distracting, very much something he wouldn't have considered to be on his List, so to speak, and didn't consider even with the evidence in mind. But he pulled up his phone again, the taunting curl of Kaito's smile bright as Tokyo, and just—just—

_Kaito: You know, it's customary to respond with a compliment if you like something._

Saguru snorted. 

_Saguru: What makes you think I don't like it? Besides it's 40% more difficult to type one-handed._

Kaito: :OOOOOO DETECTIVE!!! 

"Sodding loon," Saguru murmured, grinning to himself. He gave his over-stuffed desk a considering glance (2 hours more to finish that assignment, 30 minutes to finish his report, 20 minutes to write that letter and send it to Jack--) and then hefted himself up from the chair. Watson tossed him her mouse again, and he caught it one-handed, flicking it up for her to catch mid-air. While she was busy, he stripped: tie first, then button-up shirt, catching them on his cufflinks, then the thick-silk trousers. Socks. Shoes. 

He stood in his own bedroom, like a bloody idiot, in his underwear, and considered the practicalities of sending a fully nude image. How did one go about deciding the placement, anyway? It seemed gauche to stand there, and use the tilted mirror to illuminate what the phone would miss. And to lay down on his bed and turn his camera to face him, and then to angle it down—

_Kaito: Oioi, don't you talk to me that way, dirty detective!! I'm a good Japanese boy._

Saguru: In what universe?

Kaito: Well, if you follow Schrodinger's theory of the multiverse, there's one where I'm the cop, and you're the delinquent magician. But I'm a good boy in all universes. You're just too good, nobody can be good standing next to you. You're like the Moebius strip of decency. 

Saguru: the fact that you're referencing these concepts shows me that you've spent entirely too much time awake. 

Flop down onto his bed, and shudder as the cold sheets hit his skin. He shifted the phone up to the ceiling, tilting it so he could look at the messages, one after the other, imagining Kaito in his own bed, Kaito lounging with his phone, having taken off his bowtie and hung it somewhere else; having put himself to bed in the darkness and kept only the glow of the cellphone for company. He imagined him curled on his side, squinting against the light, surrounded by the softened cooing of the doves in the attic above him. 

_Kaito: I haven't. I'm booored and I can't sleep._

Another picture came in, wasting everything he'd imagined: Kaito naked, the top-hat emoji accentuated, now, with the bowtie that Kaito dangled from his fingertips onto the flat line of his belly (his excessively ticklish belly, Saguru knew that, a kiss there had a 50% chance of prompting laughter than anywhere else). 

__

Kaito: If you weren't such an ungrateful boyfriend you'd send me one too. Help me get to sleep. 

Saguru: I'm so glad the thought of my nakedness puts you to sleep. 

Kaito: !!! baka!!!

But Kaito had sent him two images, and in the spirit of chivalry and beneficial relationships—

Saguru hesitated, glancing down at himself, tilting up the sheets to see. Well, it was hardly a wonderful sight; he supposed that the commonsensical thing to do would be to think of something pleasant, and at least attempt to give Kaito a better image, but there was something about that line of thinking that made him flustered and flushed. Casting his eye across the room, he bit his lip as he wondered how best to respond, well aware of the ticking of the seconds (onetwothreefourfivesix). 

Ten seconds later, he saw it. 

 

And five minutes after his last message, when Kaito Kuroba was halfway to sleeping and uneasy and wondering if he'd gone too far this time – sending a dirty picture seemed like a good idea, but he'd chickened out at the thought of a full dirty picture; it might've ended up on the internet, and then how was he going to explain it to his mother? – and made Saguru really, really, really angry. The phone dinged, and he practically plunged across the bed to answer it, dropping two CD cases, and a stack of books onto the padded carpet. 

_Saguru: I love you dearly. You're my favourite delinquent._

Right underneath it glowed an image file. Kaito tapped on it, and grumbled underneath his breath as his phone churned and clicked and buzzed, and then—

The picture came in blurry, so he wasn't one hundred percent sure what he was looking at until he'd closed it, and opened it again. The second time, he knew. 

It was Saguru, naked and coy-eyed, his head tilted down. How he'd managed to get the phone that high up boggled Kaito – did Saguru have a selfie stick? – but he put that mystery aside for one second, and let his eyes flicker from the very very top (that blond, curly hair, his smile, those big brown eyes) to the naked chest, fuzzed already, and down to the—

Kaito blinked. 

There, right over the – well, the – the parts – was a deerstalker hat. He recognized it from the Cultural Festival; Saguru had dressed as Sherlock Holmes. That deerstalker had been on his head. 

_Well,_ suggested Kaito's brain, helpfully, _that's a kind of head still._

That was all it took to get him to burst out into heady snickering giggles. 

 

_Kaito: OMG! Saguru!!! You—are such an idiot._

Saguru: Thank you, darling, I am so glad to have you to raise up my self-esteem. Anyway my deerstalker is better than your top-hat. It's the genuine article. 

Kaito: I can't breathe. I'm crying. 

Saguru: Another wonderful compliment. 

Kaito: Okay, okay, you win, you win this round. But I'm going to send you an even better picture. Just you wait. 

 

In Denenchofu, moonlight streaked through the window, sunlight-bright phone in his face; stirrings of absent heat as he scrolled back through the pictures Kaito had sent him, fixated on the stretch of his thighs and his lean, long belly, and that fluff. Grinning to himself; thumbing out a reply: 

_Saguru: I believe you. Goodnight, darling._

 

 

But he didn't, really. 

Once, oh, once, was an appropriately silly mistake. A nude picture sent to a private number, not even showing anything indecent. In a court of law, it would hardly be cause for incarceration (well, maybe if I go around sharing it--) but it was still risky, still a second-thought process. Kaito had been under considerable strain the first time. There wouldn't be a subsequent event. 

 

 

12:03:09PM, Ekoda. 

Heartbeat-stutter yelling from outside as students waged war on the volleyball court; Ekoda vs Teitan, "And Silver Bullet Kudo Shinichi takes the ball—". He'd avoided going outside, knowing he'd be drafted (six foot two and hopelessly left footed, he'd fall on his face and make a misery of himself), and had resigned himself to a lunch-break inside. Sleepy teacher at the desk, head down, top of her black hair streaking all over the lacquered wood. The thin newspaper in front of him rustling in the open breeze, half-hidden underneath the bellowing of the commentator, Aoko's terrifying warrior-yells, something else he took as the pounding of the ball on the over-hot tarmac. Silence.

 _Dzzzz._

Phone. Fumbling it open, one eye on an article about a heist in Osaka _(maybe I could call Hattori, see if he has any leads)_ , shifting one pin-tingling foot from the right to the left, pinching it between the metal bars. Click open a message, leave it open as he read over the details (jewel stolen from a high-security museum in Osaka, no leads, detectives stumped, suspected Kaitou Kid). Nothing new. 

Glance down at the phone, then promptly drop it onto the table. 

Kaito, streaked with sweat and dust, baseball cap pulled back over his head with a tuft of hair protruding from the gap, ear to ear grin, transcluscent fabric practically painted onto rippling muscle, ridiculously bulging arms as though it wasn't a bloody distraction enough being next to him in gym in cut-off sleeves. Scope down, follow the pin-prick gleam of bare skin in the shirt hiked up over his belly. 

Phone freezing. Cursing underneath his breath, tapping his thumb at it, then giving up, restarting it, fingers crossed that it wouldn't corrupt the image. 

Two minutes and thirteen precise seconds later: blood pounding in his head like a fever, his fingers sticky on the keys, on the screen, stalling the image as he scrolled back up to get another look at Kaito's bright, bright smile, and then lower, over lean body in practically nothing, and—

An unsanitary volleyball pressed to the front of his – particular region. 

Saguru stared. Flushed. 

"Hakuba-san?"

Fumbling the phone, glancing up, wide-eyed and was anyone behind me did anyone see—"Ah—ha—yes?"

"You're flushed. Would you like to go and see the nurse?" 

_I'd like to get a less vexing boyfriend._ "Ah—" Catch movement out of the corner of his eye, Kaito behind the class-room door, panting and grinning and grinning and—"yes, yes, if I might, um—yes." Standing up, sending the chair skittering, nearly falling over but not quite. Grab his bag, sling it onto his shoulder, and weave a lopsided path through lopsided crowded desks, counting every second as he made it to the door. 

When he opened it up, Kaito was nowhere, gone but for the faint scent of skin and his cologne. Saguru huffed out a breath he hadn't realized he'd held, moved begrudgingly towards the lockers. The phone in his pocket burning a hole in him, scalding as though he'd had it in sunlight all morning: what a bloody risk carrying that around am I supposed to delete them what's the procedure for this? None of his other relationships had ever progressed to the smut-sending stage. 

In a manner of speaking, at least. 

Humming buzz of an incoming message. Saguru leaned against the lockers, thumbing it open. 

_Kaito: you really should come out and play with us. We could use a man like you on the team._

Saguru: I think I'll be too distracted to play. I got a very interesting message. 

Kaito: :DDDDDD did you like it???

Saguru: I—where did you even TAKE THAT that wasn't crowded. And was that a clean volleyball? Yes I liked it. Of course I liked it. I'm a teenage boy. 

Kaito: .. That's the only reason you liked it??? Cause you don't have anything else??

Saguru: No, you berk. 

Door slamming ahead; Saguru paused, glanced up, and saw no-one, shifted himself off the lockers and kept walking regardless. 

__

Kaito: ?

Saguru: I'm a very lucky boy. With a very hot boyfriend. 

Kaito: Aiiiiiiii you're embarrassing!! But thank you ;p locker room

Saguru: is that an invitation?

Kaito: Why don't you come down and see, detective?

Pause, and reverse direction in the middle of a step, padding down the staircase, bag thumping against his side, thumpthumpthumpthump. Down to the deserted second floor, then to the post-apocalyptic first, where a bored teacher manned the desk. Right hallway, past the row of locked classroom doors, around the empty gym and—

Locker-room. Dim and quiet, no players in yet. Outside, the game raged even more ferociously; from his half-second glance, he thought he saw Aoko body-bumping Shinichi aside. Wonderful. 

Snick, a footstep. 

Saguru set his bag down. The sound had come from – up ahead, to the right, perhaps, where the floor was a big padded. Where the floor had to be padded. 

Because those were the showers. 

As if by some hellish cue, running water. 

Kaito slick and wet and hot, running his hands all over his body, mud-streaked and grass-stained from the field beyond the schoolgates shouting and footsteps his own footsteps echoing; Kaito looking up, smiling at him, lower lip plump and damp and—

Saguru gravitated towards the shower, his head pounding, his heart mindless in his chest; he could hear the water clear now, echoing like a subterranean cave, the labyrinth of shiny grey lockers testimony to his closeness to his goal. Kaito hovered in his mind's eye, naked and nubile, muscles flexing as he soaped himself up, and he glanced about in two second-short bursts as he padded into the showering area. Didn't bother toeing off his shoes, because there was no water, scarce for the last stall. 

There were no people, either, but a plastic folder of some sort hovered underneath the spray at the very end. 

He flipped the tap closed, waited for the water to shush off, and then grabbed the little plastic bag. A square of white paper, 15cm by 30cm, cardboard stock, blank at the back, and at the front a grinning KID with tongue out and hearts for eyes. 

_Dirty boy, detective._

Hands over his mouth, Saguru jolted, on instinct nearly bashed an elbow back. 

Kaito's smoke-and-sin giggle. "Gotcha," he said. 

"So you have." Heart thudding, aching, his cock pounding against the cage of his trousers like someone had tripped some sort of ridiculous inner switch; all he could think about what Kaito naked and wet, Kaito grasping him, Kaito's picture. "You are such a menace," he added, and hated that it came out breathless and whining. 

"Yup," said Kaito, and giggled again, Christ, even his laugh did things to him. "I'm a terrible human being. But I take good pictures, huh?"

Saguru said nothing, and turned to face him, his brows arched. He glanced down, at the straining swell of his cock, and then up at Kaito's face, frozen in perfect shock, dark red arching over his cheeks, and his mouth hanging open.

"Yes," said Saguru, as solemnly as he could manage, "Moriarty and I both think you take quite lovely pictures." 

That broke the spell. Kaito snickered, first, and then slapped his hand over his mouth, and looked up at him, his eyes watering at the edges. For sixteen long seconds, he didn't speak or say anything, and then he bounced up on the balls of his feet, grabbed the front of his jacket, and pulled him down for a kiss like spice and sweetness and home and the end of a very long day. 

And Saguru melted into it. The pounding of his blood seemed like an inconvenience when he had two armfuls of Kaito to contend with. Two armfuls, as anyone knew, was a problematic amount. Tended to get into all sorts of trouble. 

Kaito drew back, his eyes dewy with repressed laughter, and something else, and Saguru felt his breath catch. 

"Saguru," he said, his nose against his, mouths an inch away, kissing even as the words came out. 

"Mm?" 

"You are not naming it Moriarty," Kaito whispered, and kissed the tip of his nose, "don't make me dump you before we've even gotten there, huh?" 

"My body," Saguru said, but without fire, "but if you have a better name for it, I'm all ears."

"Medical Hazard," said Kaito, decisively, and squawked when Saguru hauled him up, stepped into the shower with him, and blasted them both with cold water. 

 

 

A janitor found them wrestling on the floor of the gym. They both wound up with detention, but on the plus side, Saguru didn't have to wank off in the school's bathrooms. 

A plus for the plumbing, wrote Kaito on the back of a note, and flipped it across to him. 

Saguru chose not to dignify it with a response. Instead he dignified it with an accurate anatomical drawing of a medical hazard. 

 

 

01:33:10AM, rooftop of the Fukugawa Edo Museum, waiting for KID. Copy of the heist notice crumpled in left pocket, watching the stars, counting constellations in the sky between crumbling crowds. Underneath his feet: five floors packed with artefacts, custodians, and policemen. Nakamori hovering on the precipice of the building's grounds, looking into every bush as though Kaitou Kid might appear from behind a piece of shrubbery. 

Saguru took out his phone, his hands chilled from the long wait. Thumbing it open, scrolling through his folder of pictures, looking at them all – sexual but not sexual, in this light. Just goofy. Nothing ever visible in any of them. 

Kaito's first picture, the one with the gym, the one he'd sent him at the mall that had come in while he was busy at work and he'd had to sit down in his car for ten long minutes and think of the morgue; the one that he'd received at breakfast, Kaito in bedsheets, rumpled hair and sleepy eyes, smiling at him and crooking a finger at him. 

His own sat in another folder. Just as stupid: Him, full body, with a deerstalker hat; him, fullbody, with a magnifying glass emoji; him, full body, with his violin draped over him. Silly pictures. Not sexual, but—he lingered over them. They made him smile. 

_Dzzzt._

One new message. 

Kaito's number on screen, flickering through, an attachment. Saguru hesitated, then opened it, challenged to open it, watched the picture load slowly. 

A naked cock sprang up on his screen, and he fumbled it, nearly dropped his phone over the edge of the rooftop. 

_Kaito: I hope you'll be there tonight, detective. <33333 _

Saguru swallowed, and glanced about himself, nobody here yet, exed out of the picture, and put his phone in his pocket. Nobody could see that. Nobody. He couldn't believe Kaito had – after this time—Walk to the edge of the rooftop and peer down watch the crowd mingling and relaxing, two cops skiving off work with a smokebreak, Nakamori still poking around in the bushes, you need to send him one back, and—Saguru hesitated, it's only fair. 

He took his phone out again, and opened the picture, flushing as he saw it again, in full bloody view. Curled like a comma over his belly, glossy-shiny at the head, nesting out of a bloody pair of bloody white—Saguru blanched, nearly dropping the phone again when he saw the white trousers and the hem of a petrol-blue shirt, and—Oh, bloody fuck, he thought, imagined Kaito skulking somewhere in a room the police had overlooked, taking pictures of his naked bollocks. 

Very nice naked bollocks, all said, but, shit. 

Saguru pushed the phone back into his pocket, his hands trembling, his mind buckshot all over the bloody place; he needed to find a spot to respond to Kaito; he needed to make sure Nakamori and his detectives didn't get close to catching Kaitou Kid; he needed to keep his wits about him for when Kaito would crop up. His eyes scanned the rooftop, came up wanting, and he strode six short strides to the door, pushed it open, and padded down to the top floor. Shadowy bumps of doors hooked into the walls at either side. Underneath him, Nakamori's detectives and police constables were putting up an almighty racket, and Saguru winced as something defiantly broke – but it sounded like they were occupied, and so Saguru kept moving, trying to hear something underneath the tread of his own footsteps, the rattle of his own heartbeat and his own shaking breath. Nothing. Nothing. 

Quiet, and then, a small giggle to the left of him. Saguru saw the white tip of the cape vanish, and gave appropriate chase, darting down the hallway, to the right, following a snake-trail of multicoloured confetti – and coming to the end of the barren hallway of doors. Nowhere more to head: the hallway ended in a rather hideous picture of the Tokyo landscape painted in faded red paint. 

Dzzz. 

"Oh, for—" Saguru breathed, but his hands shook as he fumbled the phone from his pocket, and thumbed open the picture all in one two-second burst, his eyes darting about him as though he expected Kaitou Kid to melt down in front of him – and he wouldn't put it past him, really, even being the prat that he was being now. Kaitou Kid loved the attention, after all, the challenge of surprising the unsurprisable. 

Hence, Saguru thought, the picture. 

The picture. 

Kaito's cock nestled low on his belly, spotting his blue shirt with wet, clean and smooth as—as the pictures on the internet would have the discerning uninitiated believe—Saguru's breath caught and stuck, and he let it out again, sweeping slowly, how had he taken it, when had he taken this? 

Quiet press of footsteps and Saguru tilted his head around just in enough time to see Kaito at the end of the hallway, fingertip to his mouth, hat askew and monocle flipped up to show both eyes uncovered, smile on his mouth like a secret for two. He glanced about himself, and then reached for the closest door, pulling it open. A clatter of brooms shifting as Kaito padded into the little space, and left the door ajar. 

_This is insane,_ thought Saguru, _this is absolute lunacy._ He debated calling Nakamori, telling him that KID had jumped off the rooftop and flown away to some other inconvenient location, but—he stopped himself. It wouldn't be convincing enough. 

Kaito's head popped up around the doorway. "Detective," he said, pleasantly soft, archaic language twisted with laughter, "are you waiting for an invitation? Arara, do I need to book in advance to get you to follow me? You're a bad detective, letting your thief out of your sight—I could be doing anything in here—" 

"Given that it's a broom closet," Saguru started and then trailed off, because that was a rather moot point. He'd seen Kaito pull off impressive acts in much smaller spaces. 

Hurrying across to the broom closet, pulling the door shut after him, huddling close to the darkness. Trembling, whiskey-fire in his belly, watching as his phone lit up a ghost-afterimage of Kaito's grin and his glittering eyes. He squirmed as the beam hit him, and Saguru obliged them both by putting it up on a high enough shelf that it wasn't directly in his face, and succeeded in illuminating the narrow space they'd pressed into. Perhaps a metre squared, smaller because of the sixteen brooms and the three buckets and the assorted mops hanging upon one wall, the shelves of detergents and store-brand cleaners, the lopsided pile of spare overalls in the corner.

Kaito smiled, and reached up to take hold of his face: rasp of hard-edged hands unsuccessfully softened through creams and gloves. 

"Hi," said Kaito, looking up at him. 

"Hi," said Saguru, and leaned down for a kiss, soft and chaste and sweet. And then: his arm snaking around Kaito's waist, pulling him up and against him, forcing him onto the tips of his toes and stooping himself forward to make up for that fifteen centimetre height difference. Mouth to mouth, lips sliding open, flicker of tongue against tongue that dragged his head around in a whirl, pushed heat into his blood, and new purpose into the way he angled his head, tried to get a better taste of his mouth. 

Kaito giggled, muffled between teeth and kissing, and pulled back for a gasped breath. 

And that was when he noticed the curve of Kaito's cock, nuzzling against his thigh. It hadn't – it hadn't escaped his notice before, but now it was impossible to miss, the cloistered space they were in making sure that Kaito was practically grinding in his lap any direction he chose to breathe in. Saguru bit his lip, wondered if he should mention it, it isn't polite to point it out but maybe this is different maybe he wanted you to know maybe he—

"I love it when you panic," Kaito whispered to him, snickering, "you always look so cute when you panic."

"I am not panicking," Saguru whispered back and shifted himself a scant little step backwards, put a two-finger distance between them, but it wasn't enough, it couldn't erase the phantom press of Kaito's cock against his thigh, the swirling want in his stomach suffused with a bone-deep tremor that went far, far, far beyond what he'd seen in – educationally perverse material. 

"You're panicking," Kaito's grin softened, and he looked worried, then, his head cocked to one side; flustered, flushing, "did I, ah—did I go—too far?"

Saguru shook his head, carefully nudged all thoughts of the first time out of his mind. Wasn't relevant, couldn't be relevant, Kaito wasn't Rhys and Rhys wasn't here, and this was them, and this was—wanted. Needed. Good. 

"I've just never—" the appropriate word would be 'enjoyed it' but "—done something like this before." 

"Whaaat? You?" Kaito squinted owlishly at him, as though suspicious. "But you're so—" 

"Pedantic and surrounded by corpses," Saguru muttered, "nobody likes a policeman. Let alone a know-it-all policeman." 

"Nobody—" Kaito blinked again, and waved one hand towards his face. "Hello. I like policemen." 

"You're a bad judge of character," he said, glanced pointedly down at the suit, the—bump of Kaito's cock, unmitigated by their conversation, practically—asking him to kneel down and swallow him whole, bring him off and guzzle him down. Saguru squirmed, brought his gaze up to Kaito's face. 

"Point," said Kaito, "but I'm a very good judge of you." He crowded him, pressed insistently against him, both hands on his face, and pulling him down; the kiss soft as dreaming, whisper of teeth to teeth, his whole body melting into it, melting into Kaito's mouth until he started to tremble, started to feel his knees weakening. 

Safety. He was safe here. Safe from his own mind. Safe from the memories. Safe from everything he'd gone through to be here. 

"Do you want it?" murmured Kaito, against his mouth. 

"Yes," he said, before he'd thought about it; there was no thinking, not about this, if he thought, he'd talk himself out of it, he'd tell himself how terrible it was to be young and already doing—these things, he'd make a case for 'no'. And he wanted. Deep down, inside, everywhere that mattered, he wanted to be closer to Kaito. 

"No regrets?" Kaito asked again, so gentle, it hurt. 

Saguru shook his head. "No regrets," he told him, and that was – that was good, it sounded strong, coming out of him. "I'm fine. I'm fine. Just –" he pointed to his head, shrugged his shoulders. 

Kaito nodded. "No bad memories, either," he said, and leaned up, half-climbed him to plant a kiss on his forehead. "This is a strictly good memory zone. Magicians don't like to deal with bad things." 

"And the secret of your procrastination," Saguru said, "comes to light." The shuddering was gone, the rasping memory of Rhys' touching overlaid with other sensations: his back against the shelves, the smell of lemon floor polish and flowery perfume and Kaito's arousal (damp skin and musk and something sweeter than Saguru had a name for), the sound his shoes made as they scraped one of the overalls, a tumble of bottles behind him. Kaito's laughter, whispery-soft. "The heist—"

"Don't worry about that," said Kaito, smiling, "I have a plan." He looked down, questioningly, raised his hands to his trousers, and said, with a cock of his head, should I?

"You first," Saguru said, and went to kneel. 

Kaito stopped him. "Nuh," said Kaito, "you first. I'm good." He waggled his hips at him, the bulge of his cock almost teasing, "I have some help. C'mon. I wanna see you. You've already seen me." 

"But—" 

"Nuh-uh. You first," Kaito said, and folded his hands over his crotch, "or nobody gets to play. Come on, Detective. Win-win?" 

Saguru huffed. The laugh bit. "You are ridiculous," he told him, but he reached for his trousers, found the buttons, and at some point during the last five minutes of conversation, at some point, his cock was a painful, hammered-thumb pounding in his trousers, distracting him, pulling his brain into all directions. "I love you so much. You are so ridiculous."

"One of those things," said Kaito, "is very much not like the other, but I'll take it. Now show me. I wanna see. I've never seen an Englishman naked before."

Saguru laughed, this time. His fingers worked open the buttons, the zipper, pulled it down, "what do you expect will be different? Do you think we've got teabags hanging there instead of body parts?"

Kaito's eyes flicked up to him, so painfully horrified that he had to bite his own tongue to keep from laughing again. 

"Don't tease," said Kaito, mournfully, "that's not funny. I just—you know. I just wondered. If you'd be different. 'Cause you're not—full Japanese."

"I've no idea," said Saguru, in his drawers now, his trousers down around his ankles, "I mean, a prick's a prick, isn't it?"

Kaito gave him a withering glance. "Size," he mumbled, and folded his arms. "I read somewhere—"

"What are you doing reading about these things?" 

"Aah! Shut up and get naked," said Kaito, sticking his tongue out at him, "stop picking on me. Horrible detective." 

Saguru grinned. Shucked the boxers down, shuddering as the cloistered heat of the room met his skin. 

Kaito looked down, then squinted, then dropped to his knees, so suddenly he felt the air woosh against his flesh. 

Kaito said, "Hm." 

"What?" 

"I, uh—" a series of flapping hand gestures that in no way meant anything. "It's big," Kaito finished. 

"It's adequately sized." 

A snort of incredulous disbelief. "Hakuba."

"What?"

"No. _Haku-ba._ White horse. I get it now." 

Saguru breathed out slowly, looked down at Kaito's bent head, the jut of his own hip, "ha. Ha. Very funny."

Kaito's giggle, soft and gentle. "I'm serious," he said, "so Englishmen are all—"

"I am going to arrest you," Saguru hissed at him, flushed to the roots of his hair. 

"Fine, fine, jeez, can't take a compliment – okay, let me—" another humming noise, full of thought and devious planning, and then—

Kaito's fingers wrapped around the base of his cock, and Saguru nearly brained himself on a shelf as his head fell back. The ensuing thud was still loud enough to make his eyes smart, and he bit his lip, holding back a squeak of sudden shock. He forced his eyes open, made himself look down, breath hitching as he saw Kaito looking at him, blue eyes wide open and fascinated, the head of his cock resting on a plump lower lip. 

Eyes together, Kaito's bright, he watched the head of his cock disappear between his lips; and then sensation: tight, wet heat, and a spasm of pleasure so deep, he sagged against the shelves. His nails curled into claws, digging into his own palms, teeth gritted, tongue pressed tight against enamel. 

Kaito's tongue spread tickling fire, looped around the head, and teased at the slit. Looped again, one slow lick melting into the other. "Oh," he whined, soft and shocked, "oh." 

Kaito grinned, somehow, managed to grin, and then ducked his head forward, and in front of his eyes, he saw his cock disappear down Kaito's throat. Inch of inch of heat claimed him, weakening his thighs and his knees, and Saguru couldn't manage more than a strangled squeaking noise that was supposed to be Kaito's name. 

In the back of his mind, he knew this was risky, stupid, improbable; they'd be caught, and then Kaito would need defending, and Nakamori would be disappointed – but he couldn't stop himself, couldn't keep his blood from throbbing, couldn't keep himself from wanting. Kaito's clever fingers wrapped around the base of his cock, squeezing tightly, and his mouth suckled, and his throat spasmed around his shaft, and Saguru wanted, desperately wanted. 

His hips twitched forward, Kaito made a quiet noise, his free hand sliding up to press against his belly, holding him down as he suckled, and suckled and suckled, flicking his tongue around the head, sliding down, and then just as quickly dragging himself back up, so that the head of his cock fluttered in tightness and looseness, like a shallow parody of a fuck. Thoughts skittered into one another, sensation flooded everything. 

His fingers curled tight. 

"Ngh—" Air choking him, his body twitching up, bucking into that warm, warm throat, Kaito's hungry little purrs and finger-tip gripping deepening the hungry ache inside him. Pleasure flared; spread out to the tips of his toes, warmth like he'd never felt before. 

Kaito's nails dug into his thighs, dragged slowly, and Saguru keened from the flare of it, the bite and stutter of it. 

His head bobbed slowly forward, and Saguru watched, panting, as Kaito slid closer and closer, nuzzled at his belly with the tip of his nose – his throat impossibly, fully stuffed with cock – and then pulled back. And forward again, swallowing him down, and—

He closed his eyes, couldn't see anymore, whimpering in the back of his throat as that fullsoftwet tightness squeezed around him relaxed squeezed again. Kaito's fingers grabbing hold of his hands. Kaito's fingers loosening, relaxing, gripping him tight. 

Never been like this, he thought, never ever been like this. What he remembered of the first: dirt and trees a rasp of pain something bad in his mouth. 

This was better. This was so much better. 

His body tightened, and then he came, whimpering and shuddering, weak from the knees down as Kaito suckled him clean, flicker of a tongue lapping up the wet that had drained from him. Saguru leaned back hard against the shelves, opened his eyes to see him, beautiful and unembarrassed, unembarrassed, kneeling there like he – like he wanted to be. Reaching out, he feathered his hand through Kaito's hair, crouched a little (his legs wouldn't hold him up anyway) and rubbed his thumb against his jaw. 

"Good," said Kaito, thick-voiced, practically humming. 

"Yeah?" Saguru breathed, leaned in to kiss him—

His beeper rang, twice, three times, and he cursed, and went to slap it silent. 

Kaito grabbed his hand, sighed. "It's okay," he said, "it'll look more suspicious if it's silent. Answer him." 

Nod, and then flip it out, look at Nakamori's CALL ME ASAP. Took out his cellphone, crooking it between his ear and his shoulder, listening to Kaito's wobbling breathing as Saguru sank to his knees in front of him, used one hand to pull at the button on his trousers, unzip them down to his thighs. Pressed his forehead against his belly, the front of his boxers, the swell of Kaito's cock against his cheek hot to the touch. 

"Naka—" 

"Where are you?" hissed, sharp. "KID could be here any second!"

Saguru drew the boxers down, slowly. Above him, he felt, more than saw, Kaito stuff a fist into his mouth, muffling his little whimpers, "I'm on the fourth floor. Last line of defense. If KID comes upstairs, he'll have to deal with me." 

Strangled chuckling. Saguru glanced up at Kaito, smiled at him, turned his attention to Kaito, naked, Kaito in his half-shadow. Smaller than he was, but that—that was nothing. Clean-looking, neat. He wasn't sure what he should say, if he should say anything – he wasn't good at talking, half the time, tripped over his own words, but he couldn't just stare and say nothing, Kaito would fret. 

Glanced up, and formed an OK sign with thumb and index finger. 

More muffled chuckling, and then a gasp as his hand wrapped around Kaito's cock. 

"What was that?" Nakamori, suspicious, pacing, footsteps on gravel. "Is there someone there?"

"No," said Saguru, "no-one here. Nakamori, I'll be down as soon as we determine that KID is not going to show up. Now hang up the phone. He might have some sort of listening device." 

Above him, Kaito incredulously waggling his brows, flushed pink underneath his hat, his cock leaking wet against his fingers, which was hypnotizingly good. He liked how it felt, smooth and damp in his palm, dripping against his fingertips, hot. 

"He could have that?" said Nakamori, startled, "okay. Hanging up. Stay safe, you brat." 

And then silence. Saguru tossed the phone aside, heard a clatter as it hit the bottles of detergents, and focused on what he was doing. 

Thumb sliding up to toy with the frenulum dipped at the head, circling there for the choked-up moan that Kaito made, the stutter of his hips. Then up, higher up, to press into the slit, circling and rubbing, drawing more wet out of him. Kaito grunting as he trembled, one hand fisted in his mouth, the other—

"I – probably can't swallow you all," said Saguru, muttered it. 

"Nn—nyah?" Kaito glanced down, squinted, "What?"

"The th---thing you did. With the swallowing. I can't—"

"Don't worry. Just—just do what you want. That's enough." 

That's enough. Fuck. Saguru shuddered, bent his head and wrapped his mouth around the head of Kaito's cock, suckling hard, for those words and for the startled little squeak that Kaito made. It was odd – sweet-tasting, somehow, probably semantic you like him and so you associate him with a good taste, hot and weird-good; his mouth filled up so that he had to breathe through his nose, his tongue pressed flat and hard to wiggle as he worked it loose around his cock. It wasn't anything like the first, wasn't anything like anything.

But he loved the noises. The little squeal that Kaito made when he ran his tongue along the head, how he trembled when he sucked his cheeks in, and bobbed the head of his cock against the back of his throat – never as deeply as Kaito did it, but enough, enough, to make his hips shudder. How Kaito grabbed his hair, pulled at it, when he ran his fingers down to his balls, took them in his grip, and rolled. 

Kaito's squeaky little Saguru when he sank his head down as far as it would go, and then bobbed it back up. And repeated it. Twice. Three times. 

It was over so, so much sooner than he wanted. A twist of his hand at Kaito's cock, another bob, and his mouth filled with wet. He swallowed it down, pawing at Kaito's thighs, pulling him closer to press his face against his belly, taking his mouth off his trembling cock to press kisses everywhere he could manage. 

Kaito shook too, unevenly, his hands gripping his shoulders, his face, his hair. 

They sank down onto the closet floor together, Kaito curled in his lap, tangled up in their trousers. 

"Good?" said Kaito. 

He didn't trust his voice. He nodded, pressing his face to the side of his neck. "Good," he managed, a second later, hoarse. "Better than anything." 

"Flatterer," said Kaito, with a smile. He sighed, rested his cheek against his shoulder. "... I should get up. Go out and—" He waved his hand at the door. "Thieve." 

"You should." Saguru shifted his arms around him, drew him closer. "Absolutely." 

"A little difficult to get there if the local constabulary is hanging onto me." 

"I can imagine." 

Kaito snickered. Sagged into his grip, resting his cheek against his throat. "... I love you," he said, so quiet, the twitter of a bird after a raging storm, more meaningful for the silence. 

Saguru shuddered. "I love you too," he said, and kissed the top of his head, squeezing him as tightly as he could. 

"... I'm not going to stop sending you dick pics," said Kaito, a split second later, when they were on their feet, and mostly dressed, and ready to leave the closet. 

Saguru grinned. "My turn, I think," he said, and opened the door for him, gestured so Kaito could leave first. Kaito did, hips swaying, taller and untouchable now, distant as a star. He disappeared before Saguru could say anything else; there one minute, gone the next, vanished off by wires. 

He pulled the door gently closed. 

Before he left, there was one other thing to do. 

 

Dzzzt. 

A strong Eastern breeze carried the hang-glider all the way across Tokyo, and Kaito never tired of seeing it from this angle: all lit up, thousands of people watching him as he fluttered on air, guided and purposeless. Some days it felt like he could fly forever; some days before, he'd even wanted to, knowing that there would at least be a better place to go than his life. 

Those days didn't happen anymore. He had someone waiting. 

Speaking of—

The suit didn't have pockets. Not ones big enough for cellphones, but Kaito had modified the inside of the suit to carry his shitty little Samsung Galaxy close to his heart. He pulled it out as, below him, cop cars sang and police officers screamed, and somewhere in the fray, he could even see a red Aston Martin, cutting through the crowd. Following, but never close enough to see the driver, or his cap of windblown blond curls, or his smile. 

The phone froze, didn't want to open the message, and then: 

Hakubaby: Moriarty says hello. 

Kaito laughed, scrolled down the picture to see Saguru grinning, two fingers up in a peace-sign, one hand holding a handkerchief upon which he'd scribbled 'Hello', dangling it enough that he couldn't see anything. He considered sending him a picture back – maybe managing, somehow, to get his phone down there, snap a quick shot, send it to him – but he vetoed it as too risky, even for Kaitou Kid. Too much like a magic trick.

Some things, Kaito thought, didn't need to be a magic trick. 

Some things just needed to be real. 

_Idiot,_ he texted back, and then, _I told you you're not naming it Moriarty. Get home, Detective. I'll be waiting._ And pressed 'send'. 

Below, he imagined the red Aston pulling in to the curb, instinctively blocking in three of the closer-following cars. Imagined Saguru telling them that they could cut him off through Ueno, leading them on a wild goose-chase, taking them everywhere he could until he'd made it to the forest, and lost himself in the trees. And then he imagined Saguru bearing the brunt of Nakamori's rage, and driving home, parking in the dark and the quiet. Coming upstairs to bed, where he'd find him waiting. 

Kaito banked hard to the right, knowing Saguru would do it, knowing he'd come home and find him waiting for him. Underneath him, cars screeched, and he could see the red Aston pulling over, a flutter of a tan coat, a smile like sunshine. 

The magician's assistant, centre-stage.

If he looked closely enough, he could almost see Saguru smiling as he directed them, sending them far, far away from Denenchofu and the house, far, far away from Kaitou Kid. 

In the sky, Kaito laughed, and flew towards the forest. Soon, then. Soon, the magic would be over, and he'd be free to return to being Kaito Kuroba, unremarkable. 

And he was happy with that.


End file.
